


Destiny and Death

by Devils_Advokid



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nonbinary Character, Other, Sleep Deprivation, Talking To Dead People, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:01:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28570431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devils_Advokid/pseuds/Devils_Advokid
Summary: What happens when the heavily sleep deprived Dragonborn tries to escape fate, becomes the champion of every Daedric Prince, frees Miraak from Apocrypha, becomes Archmage of the College of Winter hold, Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild, Harbinger of the Companions, gets a little to angry at an old bat named Grelod, joins the Dark Brotherhood, and then gets chosen as the Listener by the Night Mother?And just when they thought they could ignore destiny for five minutes.Does it help that they've also fallen in love with a homicidal jester?Probably not.
Relationships: Cicero & Listener (Elder Scrolls), Cicero/Listener (Elder Scrolls)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

20th of Last Seed, 4E 202. 9am

The dark elf, Regan, sighed as they exited Hjaalmarch Hall, knowing they were probably going to be attacked by a dragon on their way to deliver Glover's letter to Delvin, before staring at the Throat of the World, wondering how all the Greybeards were, before relaxing slightly, just to take in the environment.

It was a pleasant day, blue sky, nearly no clouds, calming breeze, and butterflies fluttering about, a sight Regan had happily grown used to as they began to walk between the edge of the Pale and Whiterun, towards the road to Riften. Regan knew they didn't exactly fit in with the environment, with their average dunmer skin, taller-than-average height, short black, half-shaven hair, deep red eyes, with red sclera to match, a small scar across their lips, and a skull-shaped birthmark, all while wearing a full set of daedric armour and ring of Hircine, they didn't have the most welcoming of appearances. As Regan was walking down the hill, they kept thinking about their appearance, then their birthmark made them wonder if they should make a stop to Solitude, just to see if another Septim has decided to come back, causing Regan to think of the Pelagius, and Wolf Queen incidents.

Fortunately for the elf, their thoughts were interrupted by a high pitched voice. "Agh! Bother and befuddled!"

As much as they'd love to argue, Regan tripped over their armour out of sheer shock, and giggles, hoping the figure didn't hear them. Regan slowly got up from the dirt, crouched down, thanking someone the daedric armour was practically as black as a void, and that they knew hot to stay hidden, before looking over the small amount of shrubbery, and seeing him.

An Imperial, dressed in red and black jester's attire, that reminded the elf of stories they read when they were younger, matching his long red hair, stomping angrily on the side of the road, a short walk from the Loreius farm, beside a broken wagon, which held a large wooden crate.

Regan could only blink. They travelled around Skyrim for a year, a crazy year, yes, but they still knew things about the place, like how not even the High King's court had a Jester, even before Ulfric Stormcloak decided to shout the guy to death. They didn't come from Solsthiem, or Miraak would be boasting that he had a jester when no one in Skyrim did. So that begged the question, why was there a jester in Skyrim?

Regan sighed, knowing full well their curiosity won over any suspicions they could have, as they stood up and began approaching the Imperial, making sure to remove the helmet, in case the poor man thought the dunmer was actually a dremora.

When Regan got to him, however, they had to do a double-take. Sure, they were tall by Dunmer standards, but not by much, but this jester was a bit short by Imperial standards, which was not something they were used to, because of the growing number of Imperials popping up along the roads thanks to the war. "Um, excuse me, are you alright?" Regan asked the jester, praying to Akatosh their unfortunate skull-shaped birthmark didn't cause the fool to fight, as they quickly realized he had an ebony dagger on his belt.

The jester looked up at Regan, slightly arching his neck to do so, and they could see just how stressed the poor fool was. Sure, the dark elf practically never slept, but at least they didn't look like death incarnate, unlike the jester in front of them. "Poor Cicero is stuck, can't you see?"

'Ah yes, speaking in the third person, a sign I'm going to get along with this person.' Regan thought, wondering if they needed a better social circle. "I was transporting my dear, sweet mother- well, not her, her corpse, she's quite dead!" Cicero took a moment to giggle at his statement before continuing, making Regan realise he was probably the type you couldn't get a word in around, and as such, the most entertaining. It wasn't that Regan didn't like talking, they definitely did, they just enjoyed hearing others speak, unless it's Thalmor, then they want to cut off their own pointed ears.

Cicero, ever so slightly, composed himself before continuing. "I'm taking mother to a new home, a new crypt, but... argh! Wagon wheel! Damnedest wagon wheel! It broke, don't you see?"

Regan nodding, showing to the jester they could see the broken wagon wheel, and as a way to check Cicero had said what he needed, before speaking. "I don't know how to fix a wagon wheel, so is there any other way I could be of help?" Region asked, hoping they didn't need to leave Cicero stranded.

Thankfully, their question caused Cicero to brighten up. "Oh, oh yes, the kindly stranger can certainly help! Go to the farm, the Loreius Farm, just over there, off the road. He has the tools, he can help me, but he won't. He refuses!"

Cicero then stood on the tips of his toes, almost reaching Regan's height. "Convince Loreius to fix my wheel! Do that, and poor Cicero will reward you, with coin!" He then began to slightly dance on the spot, out of pure excitement. "Gleamy shiny coin!" Regan nodded, never missing the chance to make some gold, before making their way towards Loreius Farm, sitting just outside of Whiterun Hold.

When they finished walking the short distance between the road and the farm, they saw Loreius on the porch, looking decently paranoid. When he finally saw Regan, he quickly turned agitated. "Oh for the love of Mara, what now?"

Regan blinked from the sudden hostility of the, usually calm, farmer. "Um, well, there's a jester who needs your help fixing his wagon."

Vantus groaned. "You think I don't know that? He's already asked me five times and won't take no for an answer! Why cant he just leave us alone?"

Regan shrugged. "Don't know, could be 'cause he has a broken wagon wheel, but that would be silly."

Vantus scoffed. "Besides, I have no doubt he'd pay you for the trouble." Regan added.

"You think this is about money?" Vantus shouted, earning nothing more than an annoyed look from Regan, far too used to sudden screaming, thanks to Meridia, and Malacath. "Have you seen the man? He's completely out of his head! A jester, here in Skyrim? Ain't been a merryman here in over a hundred years! And he's transporting some giant box, sais it's a coffin and he's gonna bury his mother. Mother my eye! He could have anything in there, war contraband, weapons, skooma! Ain't no way I'm getting involved in any of that."

Regan shrugged. They had to admit, jesters weren't exactly a common sight in Skyrim, but neither were dragons, and he could have had anything in the box, but Regan doubted it, and Vantus already got a nice seat in Regan's 'give a black eye' book for his comment on the sanity of the poor jester, since they've already seen what a madman's mind looks like, and it isn't usually focused on burying your mother, but thankfully Regan knew they were usually shortcuts to getting a person to help you, like agreeing with their flawed, paranoid ideas. "Eh, suppose you have a point, what could I do to get him gone?"

Vantus smiled, a bad sign, history has shown. "There's a guard, patrols the road that crazy jester is on, passes by pretty often. You could report the fool, you know, say he's done something against the law, that will at least get rid of him for me. What do you say?"

'From the book of black eye to the book of shattered kneecaps.' Regan thought, crossing their arms. "I am not condemning someone to prison time just because of your paranoia."

Vantus crossed his arms. "Hmph, fine, suit yourself, but you're wrong, anyway. Just look at the fool! I don't know what it is, but he's damn well guilty of something!"

"He's a traveller who needs your damn help!" Regan snapped, their Voice rising in strength, causing the ground too, as many of their friends would put it, quake, and causing Vantus' eyes to shoot open in shook. Regan realised what they did a little too late, took a breath, and spoke, this time not causing the land around them to shake. "Please, do the right thing."

Unfortunately for Regan, Ventus decided he wanted to play the big great role of stubborn bastard, as he continued to argue. "What? And just who in Mara's name are you, anyway, hmm? Come here, telling me my business, and for what? To help a... a... a fool!"

'And if you listen closely, you can hear the sounds of triumph as Ventus' insult rippled with such a force across all of Nirn, it would eventually go on to kill Alduin himself in one swift blow.' Regan thought, trying their best not to slap Ventus across the face, until they, as calmly as they could, crossed their arms, with a very shuttle shrug. "You know you should help him."

Regan wished they put the helmet back on so they could grin as big as they wanted to, as Ventus gave in. "Look, I... I... You're right. You're right! Feller might be nutters, might not. But fact is, he needs help. I turn him away, what kind of man am I, hmm? Look, um... Thanks. And I'm sorry for my unneighborly reaction. If you talk to Cicero, you be sure and tell him I'll be down to help soon." Ventus said, fiddling with his sleeve.

'A victory, for the common dovah!' Regan thought as the returned the helmet to their head, as they went back to tell Cicero the good news. "Just talked with Ventus, he said he'd fix you wheel for you." Regan said, a small smile forming under their helmet.

Cicero grinned. "He has? Oh, stranger, you have made Cicero so happy! So jubilant and ecstatic! But more, even more, my mother thanks you! Here, here, for your troubles! Shiny, clinky gold! A few coins for a kind deed! And thank you! Thank you again." But just as Cicero gave Regan the gold, the dunmer blinked.

"Are you sure this is what I deserve for this?" Regan asked.

Cicero blinked. "Does the stranger want more?"

Regan jumped. "No, no, no! It's just that, well, I sometimes get less than this for killing dragons, so six hundred gold for convincing Loreius to fix a wagon seems like... A lot?"

Cicero jaw dropped at what was, at least to Regan, a simple statement. "You kill dragons, and are paid less than six hundred gold?"

Regan paused, then nodded. "Yeah, that's the whole affair, really."

Just as Cicero was about to say something, they both heard a dragon shout in the distance, causing Regan to sigh. "Speaking of which..."

Just as they were about to return some of the gold, Cicero pushed it back into their hand, earning a very confused head turn on Regan's part. "If the kind stranger didn't kill dragons, Cicero and his mother may have never reached Skyrim, so you may keep all the gold, no need to give any back!"

Regan giggled. "Thanks, Cicero. I need to get going though, I hope you can bring your mother to her new home without any more problems."

Cicero smiled. "Thank you, kind stranger!" As Regan began running towards the sounds of the dragon.

Five hours, that's how long it took to kill in infernal dragon, and Regan was now stuck carrying three large piles of dragon bones, from Hjaalmarch, to the Rift, not the most pleasant of journeys, that was for sure, but Regan tried to cheer themselves up by reminding themselves that Delvin and Vex usually had an interesting argument every time they went to the Flagon, and someone would buy the weapons they still had from a raid on a bandit camp.

Then they saw it, Riften, the town that held the thieves guild of Skyrim, and the only town they could name that let Argonians live inside its walls. Just before they entered the city, however, the elf had a sudden rush of boredom, not uncommon, and took out a black leather-bound journal, the symbol of the Dragonborn gleaming on its cover, and began writing the events of the day inside, making sure it was in dovah, so no one could know everything they ever did, the hagraven incident was one that came to Regan's mind first.

After they got everything they could think of inside, Regan carefully placed the journal into their satchel, and entered Riften, the town practically gleaming in the moonlight. The elf paused. It was the middle of the night, all stores are closed, so no hope selling some of the old bandit weapons they had, and Devlin was usually hammered around this time, so getting a word out from him was near impossible at the time.

As the elf pondered what they could do, walking slowly around the town, their red eyes landed on honourhall orphanage, the only orphanage in Skyrim. Regan sometimes saw the children that lived inside in the building's garden, but they always looked hopeless, scared, and hurt, which never sat right with the dark elf, it didn't help they also overheard some of the things directed at the children by its caretaker.

'OK, that's it, I'm going in, I'm going to ask if something is wrong, help if I can, then go, that's it.' Regan tried to convince themselves, knowing full well that probably wouldn't be it but proceeding to walk into the orphanage anyway.


	2. From Solstheim and Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goes to Riften to deliver a letter, goes to Solstheim, returns to Skyrim.
> 
> What could possibly happen during this time?

The dark elf walked up to honorhall orphanage, for a reason unknown to even them, and walked up to the door, confused, but not stunned, to see the door hadn't been locked.

When they entered however, they were certainly stunned.

They heard it before they saw it, shouting, and crying. "No one wants you, you idiotic urchin!"

Using an invisibility spell to look around the corner unseen, and saw an elderly woman clutching the wrist of a shaking boy, no older than nine, drawing a small amount of blood, and making Regan remember something they thought they pushed to the back of their mind. A small elf, crying, begging, and bleeding, on a Church floor.

They shook the memory away, as the woman threw the boy into a room just off the side of the children's sleeping area, and locked it, before she went into another room, loudly shutting the door behind her.

Making sure the spell was still in effect, the dunmer made their way across the room, hearing sniffles from under the blankets, and picked the lock, thinking to themselves it was too easy to pick, before realising they probably just got too good since the start of their adventures in Skyrim.

They opened the door slowly and froze, seeing two pairs of shackles, on walls above buckets and a floor covered in hay, similar to torture rooms they normally associated with bandits and Thalmor, and the boy sitting in the fetal position in the corner, using his green sleeve to muffle his cries, drawing out another memory from Regan, a memory of a shed.

Slowly, the elf allowed their spell to lift, before removing their helmet, not caring if the child remembered them later, and spoke in a whisper so only the young boy heard them. "Kid, I need you to look at me."

He froze, before looking up, not seeming worried that a dark elf with a skull-birthmark and daedric armour had broken in. "Are- are you here to save us?"

Regan smiled softly. "I will, but first I need you to explain what's going on."

The child shook again, tears streaming down his face. "It's Grelod, ever since Aventus ran away she's meaner than before, she's beating us more frequently, and-and she's not even letting us get adopted. Please-please help..."

Regan nodded, knowing no one was going to care if the woman ended up dead, the guards certainly wouldn't, and even if Maven funded the building, Regan knew she'd sell everyone she knew to Clavicus Vile for one shot-glass of warm water, so, as far as Regan was concerned, it wouldn't be any different then when they killed the priest of Boethiah for Molag Bal, or when they killed the followers of Boethiah for Boethiah.

"I will, but I need you to get into your bed, don't wake anyone up. I'm sure you'll know when I'm done." Regan promised, a calm smile on their face, hiding the dragonic bloodlust that was brewing inside of them.

The boy nodded, before slowly standing up, and running into bed, pulling his blankets up just enough he could still see Regan.

Regan entered the bedroom of the 'caretaker' and could see the woman, who was reading a book on her desk. The elf grinned, placing the daedric helmet back over their head as they silently shut the door, and used their Voice to snuff out all the candles, the room going dark as the sky during a storm.

Thankfully, Regan was a Nightingale of Nocturnal and could see clearly in the dark. Grelod, however, couldn't, proving this point to the dark elf as she lit a match, only for Regan to snuff it out with their Voice again, before they quickly danced their fingers over the wall, causing Grelod to frantically look around the room.

Regan grinned, ready to torment the woman in her last moments, as they used the illusion magic to speak to the woman inside her head. "You know, you're a pretty terrible caretaker, with the whole torturing-the-children-your-meant-to-be-caring-for thing."

Regan giggled, as Grelod spun around, hoping to find the source of the voice. "What's wrong Grelod, hearing voices!?"

The caretaker froze in place, fear sinking deep into the pit of her stomach as Regan used more illusion magic. "But really, with the things you're putting these children through, you'd think you were a Molag Bal worshiper, you aren't, are you? "

Grelod began to shake, before speaking, tears beginning to slowly fall down her face. "Get out..."

"Tut tut tut, Grelod, what would the children think! Besides, you haven't answered my question."

The dunmer took this moment to force images of Coldharbour into the woman's head. "Are you a worshiper of Molag?"

Grelod shook her head frantically, pressing her hands against her ears as if that would stop the noises and images in her mind. "No!" She finally screamed out.

Regan the sprung, covering the old woman's mouth with their hand, holding her in place with Illusion magic. "That's for Molag to decide."

Regan slowly pulled the cursed mace the Daedric Prince gave them out from their bag, slowly raising it high above the 'caretaker's' head, seeing the fearful and pleading look in her eyes, causing a grin to form under Regan's helmet, before bashing her skull in, a loud crunching sound echoing through the building.

Regan had to shuffle a laugh, because in one measly hit, Grelod was dead, her soul was in a gem, and her body casually thrown onto her bed, but they stopped when they heard footsteps approaching the room.

The four children rushed into the room of their, now dead, caretaker, and all began to celebrate. "Grelod's dead! They finally killed her! Aventus did it! Hail the Dark Brotherhood!"

Regan took in a decently sharp breath at the mention of the Dark Brotherhood, having a decent knowledge about the group. For one, the only place they don't tend to operate is Morrowind, which has the Morag Tong, and for another, they're an incredibly deadly group of assassins, that Regan would rather not fight with.

Regan quickly used their shadow cloak ability before the children could catch a decent look at them, and heard a little girl say, with a smile that made Regan wonder if she shared blood with Nelkir. "Kill one person, and you can solve so many problems. I wonder at the possibilities!"

A younger woman, Regan assumed Grelod's old assistant, had also been woken up by the commotion, as she seemed to just appear by the doorway, and was the only one who seemed startled, not surprising since her co-worker's head had been smashed like a rotten gourd.

Suddenly realising it would be decently hard to escape when the young woman called the guards, Regan decided to use their Voice and slow down time, giving them the window they needed to escape the scene of their most recent atrocity, though they couldn't say they regretted this one.

After running to the bee and barb, in literally no time at all, Regan took a breath, took off their helmet, taking a moment to let out the laugh they were holding in, and entered the inn, immediately walking towards the innkeeper, Keerava.

When they got to the counter, the argonian smiled warmly. "I must ask, have you ever slept?"

Regan laughed. "If you count the time I was rendered unconscious by a bunch of soldiers for two days as sleep, then yes."

Keerava sighed. "You will be killed by sleep deprivation before the dragons get a chance."

Regan threw up their arms. "Why does everyone keep telling me that?"

"Because it's true." Talen-Jei said behind them.

The dark elf scoffed. "Well, any rumours floating about the crisp cold air?"

Keerava leaned in close to the dark elf. "You know honorhall orphanage, just across the market, yes?"

Regan nodded as intently as they could, wondering if word about a murder they _just_ committed could travel that quickly. "Well, a few months ago, a young boy, Aventus Aretino, ran away from the orphanage, and back to his old family home in Windhelm." Keerava continued.

Regan scratched their head. "Sheesh, poor kid."

Keerava nodded. "That's not even the strangest part, my friend, some of the locals are claiming to hear strange chanting coming from the residence, most of them are saying the boy's contacting the Dark Brotherhood."

Regan exhaled a breath they didn't even know they were holding. "Well, I suppose if there's an era for that to happen, it may as well be this one."

"Dragons, daedra, aedra, thieves, killers, crooks, a child summoning a group of assassins is hardly the strangest thing to happen this era." Keerava agreed, shaking her head solemnly.

Regan, Keerava, and her fiance Talen-Jei spent most of the evening talking to one another and telling jokes that would only seem funny to them at two in the morning, but when morning came, and the sun started rising, Regan decided it was about time to deliver Glover's letter to Delvin.

Regan slowly got up from their seat, stretched a bit, and turned to leave, making sure to place a bag of two hundred septims in front of Keerava before leaving. "Heard about the Black-Briar Mead raising in price again, hope the coin helps with that."

As they placed their helmet on their head and walked out of the inn, they saw a smile appear on both Keerava and Talen-Jei faces', which was always a joy to see, thanks to the problems the couple constantly faced.

When Regan entered the Flagon, using the entrance under the graveyard, Delvin was already seated in his usual place on a table next to the bar and gave a small smile when the dark elf entered his view. "Letter from Glover." Regan said with a small smile, passing the latter over to Delvin.

Delvin gave a small chuckle. "You seriously playing the part of the courier now?"

"Last I checked I normally play the part of errand elf." Regan laughed.

Devin shook his head with a grin. "One of these days you're gonna be given the task of delivering a God to his new home, you know that?"

Regan groaned. "For the love of the sweet sixteen daedric princes Delvin, don't jinx it for me."

Devin laughed. "Stolen anything of value recen'ly?"

"Stole from the Silver-Blood safe in Markarth again, that something of value?"

"Still wonder how they haven't caught you yet."

"You have seen the political problems Markarth is facing, right Delvin?"

Devin snickered. "Hey, it's the problems of the Reach, not the problems of Riften!"

Regan rolled their eyes. "I'll probably be back with another letter from Glover next month or so, and he's expecting you to send one to him soon."

Regan walked back towards the cistern, as Delvin raised his flagon in what was his version of goodbye, as Regan left the Guild's base of operations, and decided to head towards Windhelm, hoping the Aventus child was alright.

Regan had to admit, they were getting pretty damn good at finding shortcuts when they travelled from one hold to another, it only took one hour to get to Windhelm, while wearing full Daedric armour, pretty damn good, Regan thought.

As the dunmer entered the city, it was the same as it had been last time they showed up, grey, cold, snowing, depressing, they really could go on, but they didn't need to, since they had to see what was going on with this Aventus kid Keerava mentioned.

Realizing they didn't know where the house was, Regan decided to ask one of the guards, who was probably a racist Nord, while Regan was a dark elf, who most of the Nords of the area disliked very much. "Excuse me, I'm looking for the Aretino residents?"

The guard shivered at the mere mention of the place. "Near the grey quarter, but be careful, that place is cursed." The guard then speed-walked away from the dunmer as they shrugged, knowing full well hold guards were dramatic.

After looking at the buildings near the grey quarter, where the nords had forced the dark elf refugees to live, they found the home and made fast work of the lock.

When they entered, they could hear chanting coming from upstairs, and just by glancing at the place, could tell it hasn't been cleaned in a while, but Regan continued to follow the sounds anyway, against what should have been their better judgment.

Their eyes landed on a note seated at a table. From it, the learned Aventis was only ten years old, recently lost his mother, had no other known family, and was practically forced into the orphanage by Ulfric Stormcloak, with barely enough time to come to terms with the event.

When they found the room the chanting came from the dark elf was certainly surprised. In the room, was a child, repeatedly stabbing a skeleton, which sat beside a human heart, and a piece of flesh. 'Charming scene.' Regan thought.

"Excuse me, kid?" Regan began, hoping the boy wasn't injured, though they were quickly able to tell the child had not been injured recently when he ran up to them practically jumping for joy.

"It worked! I knew you'd come, I just knew it! I did the Black Sacrament, over and over. With the body and the... the things. And then you came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood!" Aventis said, his hands shaking out of excitement.

Regan nodded, working out fairly quickly they may as well play along. "Yeah, an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood..."

Aventis rubbed a few stray tears from his eyes. "I've been praying for so long, but now that you're here, you can accept my contract!"

Regan blinked under their daedric armour. "Contract?"

"My mother died last Winter, and they sent me to that terrible orphanage in Riften, and the headmistress is cruel and- and evil! They call her Grelod the kind. But she's not kind. She's terrible. To all of us! So I ran away, back home, and performed the Black Sacrament, and now you're here, so now you can kill Grelod!"

"Well, as I think you'll be pleased to learn, Grelod is already dead." Regan said, wondering what they could do to get this kid some much-needed help.

Aventus beamed. "Really? I mean, I knew the Dark Brotherhood was good, but not that good! You killed the old hag before I even asked."

The young boy walked up to Regan and handed them a plate. "It's an old family heirloom, it's made of pure silver, so it should fetch a nice price."

Regan nodded, carefully putting the plate away, and knelt to eye level for Aventis. "Well then, now that Grelod's dead, you should return to the orphanage, I'm sure you'll be welcomed back with open arms, I'll even bring you there myself if you want."

Aventis seemed to coil at the idea of returning to the orphanage, then smiled slightly. "I'll go back once things have settled down a bit, and Constance Michel is properly in charge, y'know, give them time to clean up the mess."

Regan sighed, knowing this was probably the best they were getting. "Fine, but buy yourself some fresh food, okay?"

Just before they left, they passed the child a coin purse full of one hundred septims. "Use some of that for a carriage ride to Riften, the rest is to be used for food and clean clothes, understood?"

Aventis nodded, his eyes glued to the coin purse, given to him by whom he believed was an assassin, and they kind of were, the difference was no one arrested the people who hired them, since it's hard to arrest a Jarl or a daedric prince, it's also pretty hard to arrest a dragon in mortal flesh.

22nd of Last Seed, 4E 202

It took a while, but they made it to one of their homes, to their three dogs, and Rayya, their housecarl.

"My thane, you need to sleep." Rayya called out from the fireplace.

Regan shrugged feeding pieces of salmon to the dogs. "Who has time for that?"

Rayya sighed, sipping some of their vegetable soup. "When was the last time you slept?"

Regan groaned, replacing their daedric armour with much more loose guild master outfit. "Does it matter? I mean, really, does it?"

Rayya shook her head disapprovingly. "You will either sleep in a bed soon or I'm trailing you into one and will hold you down until sleep takes you."

Regan sighed, knowing full well the redguard wouldn't give up. "Fine, just let me do some things."

Rayya nodded, acting like a mother whose child started behaving correctly.

Thankfully, to save Regan from time missed adventuring, a knock came from the door, causing Regan to answer it, and be greeted by the courier.

Regan smiled, as the courier meant a letter, possibly from Hermaus Mora, and more often than not, a new adventure. "Something for my hands only?" The dunmer asked, far too used to the courier's brief speeches.

The courier nodded with a smile. "A letter from someone, Miraak, he called himself, tall guy, claims to be your brother, newspaper, oh, and I got this note."

Regan then took the letter, the newspaper, and the note, while their brain froze, not used to the Courier not giving details of the sender. "Who's the note from?"

The courier shrugged, which deeply worried the Dragonborn, not used to the courier not knowing these things. "Don't know, creepy fella, black robe, couldn't see his face, paid me a pretty sum to get that into your hands, though."

The courier clapped his hands. "Looks like that's everything, now I need to make more deliveries."

Regan blinked, very confused as to who would have sent the note, before giving in to temptation and unfolding it.

Instead of answering their questions, however, it only added more. The note only contained two words, "We Know." and an image of a black hand.

Regan's face blanked, very confused as to who sent the letter, why they felt the need to send the letter, and just what in the realms of Oblivion were they referring to?

'OK Regan, think, who would send a letter like this?' A lot of people, according to Regan's mind.

Multiple daedric princes, the Morag Tong after one instance, Daedra worshipers, multiple church groups, whatever poor soul witnessed one of their drunken escapades, whichever bandit group was currently in charge of the Toll Road near Whiterun, Morgal, Thalmor, the list went on and on.

'And what's the black hand all about?' Regan thought, before quickly realizing it could have been a red herring.

To try and distract themselves, they opened the letter from their older Atmoran brother, and read the words. 'As the rieklings you command have recently figured out that no gods had a hand in their creation, they have used their power to commit crimes of the highest order, and have taken to stealing all alcoholic beverages from my temple. You have three days to return it to me, or I swear to our Bormah Akatosh, I will smite them with a wrath to rival his.

Signed, your dearest zeymah, Miraak, First Dovahkiin.'

Regan couldn't help but laugh. Miraak, the First Dragonborn, getting angry at rieklings, who had somehow worked out how to not only break into his temple, but steal the alcohol from it, and survive.

"Rayya, I need to save my people. I'll be back in… around three weeks? If I'm not back by then, assume I'm dead and act accordingly." Regan said, grabbing a few healing potions, oil, and gemstones, knowing they would want to bring new spiders into creation.

"Of course my thane." Rayya said, calmly sipping the vegetable soup she had made herself.

23rd of Last Seed, 4E 202. 3pm

After jumping off the boat to Solstheim, and exchanging a few words with Teldryn Sero and Ralis Sedarys, Regan made fast work to the temple that was built in Miraak's honour.

Glancing at the tree stone as they made their way towards the door, two of the temple goers, otherwise known as cultists, waved to Regan. "Good afternoon, False Dragonborn."

The title never failed to make Regan smile. It wasn't as demanding as Hero of Legend, as terrifying as the Doom Driven One, or as famous as the Last Dragonborn. It also helped them remember that, in the eyes of some, they weren't a powerful being no one could defeat, they were only second best to the True Dragonborn, though as they continued to think about it, that was probably a sign of some sort of mental illness.

But this thought was quickly forgotten as they found their Atmoran brother, Miraak, seated at a table, surrounded by his followers.

Regan knocked at the wall, as the First Dragonborn looked up. "Finally, you arrived, we were almost out of alcohol."

"Still can't believe you got your stash stolen by a group of rieklings." Regan laughed, shaking their head.

"They came in the night, Mal Dovah, catching even the great Miraak off guard." Miraak huffed, crossing his arms.

"Whatever makes you feel better." The elf retorted.

Miraak shook his head. "I ask you, my own briinah, to help me in my time of need, and instead of kindness, I am given nothing but unslaad vokun."

"Miraak, soul-brother, please, tell me what you need of me, and I promise not to be an unending source of evil and chaos." Regan said, blinking in a way one would expect a child to while promising their parents that, no, they did not eat the cookie, it was the flaming rat-mice that could speak zombie, and teleport.

"Doubtful, but I'll continue anyway." Miraak scoffed. "I need you to stop those rieklings in the mead hall from stealing the temple's alcohol and get us all some sujamma from Geldis Sadri. Don't worry, gold hoarder, I have the money here, and the list of what we need."

After Miraak passed the gold and the list, Regan made a show of observing it, going as far as to put a ball of mage light against the page while squinting in the most over-the-top way they could. "Miraak, when did you steal Sanguine's daily shopping list? And why was I not informed you were going to the Grove?"

"Oh, be quiet False One, this is a large temple, which holds large monthly parties which everyone can attend, we need that entire list completed." Miraak growled.

Regan shook their head, before turning to do the task their brother most definitely could have done on his own.

Just as they were about to open the temple doors, they accidentally bumped into one of the church goers, who let out a small squeak, as opposed to the sharp inhale of air that Regan did.

The cultist, who Regan guessed was a forager based on the satchel they had tied around them, looked up, and frantically began to apologise. "Oh, I am so sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you, truly."

"No, it's my fault, honestly, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." Regan explained, hoping the cultist didn't know who they were.

Thankfully, they didn't, or at least they didn't know they knew them. "Oh, um, OK." The cultist extended a gloved hand. "I'm Net."

The dunmer took Net's hand and shook it, praying their grip wasn't too strong. "Regan."

Net nodded. "Do hope we get the chance to speak later, but I need to deliver these ingredients."

Regan nodded, as Net ran down the hall towards the inner parts of the temple before they left off to deal with the small army of rieklings just down the mountain.

It was quite easy to convince the rieklings to stop stealing the temple's sacred reserve, all Regan had to do was give them all a few piles of Nord style mead, and honningbrew mead, and they were happy to stop stealing the temple's alcohol, as long as Regan could keep supply high.

As Regan entered the Retching Netch Cornerclub, they quickly leaned against the counter towards Geldis. "Is the Menace of the Morag Tong here for a bottle of sujamma?" Geldis asked, an almost child-like grin on his face.

"Yes, but not for me." Regan sighed, passing Miraak's shopping list to Geldis, along with the gold needed to pay.

As Geldis read the note, his eyes practically grew in size, as he frantically looked from the list to the pile of gold. "Look friend, I ain't one to delve into too many questions, but please tell me, are those guys up in the temple planning a mass suicide?"

"Hardly, they decided they wanted to prepare for when a drinking contest is started, then it'll be a mass suicide!" Regan barked.

Geldis shook his head, diving under the counter to grab many bottles of sujamma, and other alcohol Miraak requested while pulling the pile of gold towards him.

Regan sighed." Thanks, Geldis."

"It's no problem. They get sujamma, I get gold and pastries your brother sends my way." Geldis grinned, glee in his voice.

Regan laughed, shaking their head as they began to leave. "Be careful, it looks like an ash storm's brewing!" Geldis called out.

Regan sighed as they began to leave Raven Rock, but just as they were about to head to the temple, they were stopped by a small group of children, Regan recognising one as the second councillor's youngest daughter. "We want to see Miraak." The young girl demanded, earning a confused smile and eyebrow raise from Regan.

"Why exactly do you want to see him?" Regan asked, wondering if the group were even meant to be this close to the bulwark.

"He makes apple tarts." One small boy answered.

"And he has dragon pets!" The councillor's daughter added, a grin on her face, as she jumped on the spot.

Regan giggled. "They aren't pets, they're some of my siblings."

The children stopped. "How? You're an elf, like us."

Regan shook their head. "No, I look like an elf, but I'm actually a terrifying dragon, with six horns on my head, and a spiky tail!"

Most of the group giggled, but the councillor's daughter, who Regan now remembered was named Dreyna, looked annoyed, on the verge of anger. "That's not true, I can see your head and there's no horns."

"Are you sure?" Regan smiled, as an ethereal version of their soul began to show itself.

The two larger horns on the top of their head were just stronger goat horns, all things considered, with the two horns between them looking more like spikes than horns, and the pair below, starting just above the tips of their ears and ending just below them, looked like two halves of a heart.

The tail was less useful in ethereal form, but was nonetheless there, and looked like it was covered in a thin layer of fur, along with spikes that ran along the top of it.

The colourful scales that acted more like armour than an extension of their body looked like jagged spikes, the claws they now possessed sharper than any blade, and the ghostly wings that started at their shoulder and folded just around their wrists, were folded as best as Regan could manage while standing up.

The children were quick to ask questions. "Can you fly? Have you ever hurt yourself on one of your horns? Can you breathe fire? Are you part khajiit? Was your father a dragon and your mother an elf? Why are you such a small dragon?"

It took most of Regan's self-control not to gush at the sheer amount of joy they felt seeing the glee in the children's eyes, so they decided to answer the questions. "I can glide, but I can barely fly, I am not part khajiit, my mother was an elf, but my birth father wasn't a dragon, I am a small dragon because if I was any bigger I couldn't pick up books, and the gods aren't that cruel, and I can do more than breathe fire. "

"Like what?" Dreyna asked, eyes full of wonder.

Regan smiled, as they slowed time to stand behind Dreyna, and tap her shoulder, causing the young elf to spin around in shock.

"That's so cool! Teach me, teach me!" One child said.

Fortunately for Regan, Captain Veleth approached the group, Regan deciding they may as well add themselves to it. "What are you all doing this close to the Bulwark? If an ash spawn, or Gods forgive, a dragon, is out there, you could all be seriously hurt."

"But you said the ash spew- ash spaew- Ash monsters were gone." One child said, pretending they didn't struggle to get the sentence out.

"And they are, along with dremora from Oblivion, but some people are evil and like to summon them." Captain Veleth explained, the bags under his eyes growing by the second, all while he forgot Regan was a master conjurer, who once summoned over twenty fire atronachs just outside of Raven Rock, while high after they smoked nirnroot for a joke.

Regan giggled, as another voice, belonging to Dreyna, spoke up. "And papa's friend says they're a tiny dragon, are you saying their evil?"

Captain Veleth blinked, not in any way sure as to how he was meant to respond, before being saved by Regan. "All dragons, including me, are capable of great evils, most of them prove this capability every day of their existence, and we can label them as evil, while some dragons like me meditate and don't wreak havoc across Tamriel."

"So, we can keep dragons as pets?" Dreyna asked, a truly terrifying grin spread across her face.

"No, the dragon will eat you."

"Are you going to eat us?"

"I would, but you're all too tiny." Regan responded, looking as bored they could currently manage.

Dreyna was not impressed, at all, and responded with a simple. "That's gross." Before turning tail and walking away, as the rest of the children followed her lead.

"How do you do it?" Veleth laughed, shaking his head.

"I throw away the social barrier that was put in place for a reason and allow my useless thoughts to go where they wish." Regan said, completely zoned out the entire time, while they were actually thinking about what would happen if a chaurus fought a frostbite spider.

Veleth shook his head walking, again, towards the group of children, who were now intensely watching a bird fly over Raven Rock.

Regan, after deciding they didn't have enough mental energy to communicate to a person, pushed onward to Miraak's temple, wondering along the way if they and Miraak were technically the same person, as they were both shards of Akatosh.

This thought was later replaced by what Regan considered to be far more important.

How much did the Oblivion Crisis cost?

13th of Hearthfire, 4E. 10pm

Three weeks passed, Miraak and Regan both agreed Akatosh was a terrible father and Uriel the Seventh didn't deserve being assassinated like that, and Regan was back on the cold land of Skyrim, something they didn't think they could ever be thankful for after Helgen.

They opened their bag as they once again entered the ancient city of Windhelm, eyeing the purple robes Miraak had given them, as well as what the average person would call 'too many spiders', but Regan had tea parties with Sheogorath, so there was no point in them claiming to even be close to average this point in their life.

As they were about to leave the city through its main doors, a feeling washed over them and guided the elf towards Candle Hearth hall.

Regan entered the inn, paid for a room, thankfully avoiding Galmar, changed into the purple robes they had been gifted, realizing as they did so that Atmorans loved having unnecessary layers in everything but armour, and collapsed onto the bed, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over them, and then they heard a voice. " ** _Sleep_**."

Regan didn't understand why, but they felt compelled to obey, which should have felt wrong to the Dragonborn, but it didn't, it felt right.

Against what Regan, the champion of _Vaermina_ , assumed would happen, they would go to sleep and dream, they entered a dreamless sleep, but they couldn't call it dreamless, as they felt like they were floating in water, water black as midnight yes, but water nonetheless.

Regan also realised they didn't feel like they were drowning, they felt like they were part of the water, but they also felt it surrounding, no, avoiding them.

' _What is Sheo up to?_ ' Regan thought, deciding only the God of Madness would do something like this.

When the elf woke up, they knew they weren't in the inn anymore. From the hard wooden floor below them to the mould-ridden, leaking ceiling above them, on top of the fact they heard crying, the only reason they didn't think they were kidnapped by Molag worshipers was the fact the layers that made up their robes were still firmly intact.

Realising that they also didn't know who kidnapped them, the list was far too long, Regan turned, and came face to face with a Nord, sitting atop a bookshelf, playing with a blood-red dagger in her hands.

"Sleep well?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, finally finished this chapter.
> 
> I know this chapter is a little all over the place, I'm sorry, I promise the next few chapters aren't going to be nearly as chaotic... I hope.
> 
> And yes, I know Betheny Esda never added dunmer children in Skyrim but this is my Fanfiction and I get to choose what in-game canon is ignored.


End file.
